Morris tribune., 1887-12-14
the GOLFERS hut.

"Grandpa" Sylvia began, bending
over to comb his hair with her fin
gers.
His head rested--where old heads
had been pillowed hundred years
before-on the high back of the old,
slender, green armchair.
1t was a weather, worn old head.
The storm had swept the thatch from
its roof, except two tangled wisps
that hung over the caves, one above
each ear. These-the brushy locks,
of course, and not the ears-Sylv ia
was industriously trying to curl.
They wouldn't curl, and Sylvia
didn't care; she did care very much,
as we shall see, about something else.
She lived in Cornwall, among the
gray old Litchfeld hills, that stood
and, l think, still stand-in the north
westernmost Granny of Connecticut.
"Well," he asked, pinching her,
''and what does missy want out'n
Grandpa, now"
"Why, who said wanted anything?"
Sylvia replied, an eager quaver in her
voice. "But do. Mrs. Cotter was
a-talkin' to-day"
"Most ginerally always kinder is, /"
he interrupted.
"Was a-talkin," continued Sylvia,
"bout family in P'keepsie that
want cottage for the summer. Now
there's that hut up on Skatikoke, very
near where you're chopin wood"
"Eh! want to fix that up for 'em?"
Grandpa exclaimed. "Cool N airy
like, n no malary, N as quiet at the
desert O. sabary, NJ"
"No, Grampa." Sylvia slipped her
arms around his neck and tied her
fingers in a chubby knot under his
chin. mo, want you to rent our
house to them, and let us camp out
IN that hut
81 want't kpow!" Grandpa exclaim-
ed, so much asConished, that he nod
ded right off to sleep.
When he awoke, the warm, soft
knot of fingers was still under his chin,
and the warm pressure of lips on his
forehead.
II knew you would!' said Sylvia.
"Knew I would! Bless me! Who
said would?" he asked.
But it came to pass. Grandpa told
her to "get that notion out'n her
head" but notions, when they got in
to her head, seemed like mice caught
in trap, to forget how to get out.
The next Tuesday morning Mr..
Marsh drove up, with Jennie and
Whitefoot hitched to the big wagon,
and into it went boxes and bundles,
and chairs, and Grandpa, and Tows-
er, the dog, and Sylvia, and Mouser,
the kitten, and on the mountain they
went for the summer.
They were poor and lived alone; she
was housekeeper, and maid of-all-
work, sometimes making baskets to
sell.
He, an oaken-limbed man of nearly
sixty, earned their living by chop
ping wood for charcoal.
AS for Sylvia her heart ran over
again and again in Joyous tears that
the wind tried to dry with her loose
tresses.
At last they came to the old collier
hut, standing on a "pit" "a wide,
round shelf on the mountain side
where charcoal had once been burned.
When Mr.. Marsh had driven off,
Sylvia and her grandfather hustled
about like two squirrels fitting up
their home.
Grandpa had reroofed the hut with
fragrant hemlock boughs and earth.
He now fashioned two rude beds out
OF poles stuck on crotches, and re-
placed the fireplace, hanging an old
cane in it.
Sylvia made the beds, swept and
brushed and tidied all day. A curtain
was hung in the corner for a ward
robe. A box. turned on it's side, serv-
ed-when grandpa put shelf in it
for pantry and table.
When grandpa came in from chop
ping their firewood, he found their
table covered with coarse cloth, the
butter dripping over the nicely
Drowned edges of pile of toast, be-
side it plate of flakes Of cold lamb.
while the teapot sent out it's sweet
breath from the hearth.
Supper over, Sylvia took soap and
tea-towel to the edge OF the brook that
tumbled by their new home, not
twenty etssaway. Grandpa brought
the dishes to the wide, smooth rock,